An Open Bee!
What a fabulous idea. ...launched to give people of all ages an opportunity to spell, noting that the 8th grade is the last chance most people have to participate in a spelling bee.

I think I shall look into this. I was third in our school bee in fifth grade. Sixth, I didn’t do quite as well. And then my school quit participating in the national Bee system. Oh, the missed opportunities. The shattered dreams. I knew I'd never make it to Wimbledon. But I thought I had a shot at the Bee.

You don't understand. I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody, instead of a fair to middlin’ speller, which is what I am, let's face it.

A sacrifice to be real must cost, must hurt, must empty ourselves...
Of course I want to love Christ in the “distressing disguise.” The problem is - I want to choose the disguise. Just as I say I am willing to take up my cross - though the crosses of others are more appealing to me.

This is where we are tested. The rather obvious distresses aren’t particularly disturbing to me. (Maybe it is just my nature; or that motherhood has left me with a high tolerance of blood, puke and other aesthetically unpleasant bodily fluids and functions.) So my struggle right now is not in loving Christ in the the obviously distressing disguise. It it to love him in the people that I find difficult to love. Those whose distressing disguise is beneath the surface. Not only beneath the surface, but a matter of interpersonal hurt and irritation. That is the challenge.

Just as I have a daughter who would rather hug someone with extreme neurofibromatosis than a well-healed, fabulously manicured society girl, I would prefer to pick maggots off of lepers instead of seeing Christ in a particular person who is plain difficult and contentious. But that is what I must do. This is going to hurt...

You Are Somewhat Machiavellian

You're not going to mow over everyone to get ahead... But you're also powerful enough to make things happen for yourself. You understand how the world works, even when it's an ugly place. You just don't get ugly yourself - unless you have to!

How Machiavellian Are You?

It was so like...The Jetsons
It was just Eddie and me for dinner last night, so we went to the local Panera Bread for soup. After noticing the wi-fi users on our last visit there, Eddie just had to bring his laptop. During dinner I realized we were surrounded by people with laptops, cell phones, iPods. I felt like I had just stepped into an episode of the Jetsons. All I needed to do was change Eddie's name to Elroy and convince the car to fly us home.

I was glad that Elroy Eddie was off playing LEGOS when I turned on the telly to watch PrimeTime on ABC. They had a piece about cute little white supremacist singing twin sisters. Creepy and sad. (Such a quick jump from The Jetsons to The Twilight Zone) Oh...and of course they homeschool. And these are the homeschoolers that people are going to remember when homeschooling comes up in conversation. Oh, boy.

About time.

Where do you go when you're lonely
Where do you go when you're blue
Where do you go when you're lonely
I'll follow you
When the stars go blue...

Penny wise and spiritually foolish, I skipped morning Mass just about every day this week. All in the interest of getting to my desk early and getting some work done before the phones start ringing. Professionally speaking, it was the right thing to do...having been a little stretched trying to cover two desks and myriad tasks while the official Parish Secretary is still out on a medical leave of absence.

But heaven knows that the tough days are the ones that need to be started in the Presence of the Lord. Even on the not so crazy days, it helps me to put it all into perspective. There is a bit of a disconnect for me. A mission of utmost importance combined with mind-numbing tasks. Each phone call a chance at addrressing an aggressive telemarketer, a kvetching parishioner or , then again, a soul in need of a priest. Every day is (and I mean this in the most reverent way I can express) a double bill of The Passion of the Christ and Office Space.

I think it would be the better investment in my performance, dedication and, oh Lord, my patience to start the day off right. (My patience most sorely tested by the demands of family life coupled with one too many kind parishioners who suggest I take a page from Secretary X’s book and get some arthroplasty on my hip. Like it’s that easy. Blech.)

I shall approach the coming week differently. Starting my day suffused in the blue glow of the sun as it passes through the church windows.

So...it’s like,
if birthing, parenting and schooling were an Olympic sport, we would have our gold medalists. And that would make me the captain of the Jamaican bobsled team.

"We'll turn the fryers on about 5 Wednesday morning and we should have hot beignets pretty quick after that."
Mmmm. Beignets

Society for the Propagation of the Species?
Don’t think funny while typing.
Because it will come back to you while flossing your teeth at bedtime and the you’ll spend the rest of the night thinnking, “I hope I didn’t type that.”

Have I mentioned Ernst Dalton, Nora Dineen, Ed O’Toole and Bloody Bones?
Three relatives and a local legend. And that’s just for starters. Few children are as blessed as I was....or my children are.

"The power of the family stories and the family history is really remarkable."..."There seems to be something that's particularly important about children knowing where they came from in a larger sense, and having a sense of family history and a family place."

The remains of the world's oldest noodles have been unearthed in China.
Which reminds me...it’s Thursday night. Time to clean out the refrigerator. The world’s second oldest Chinese food is lurking in the back. I know it’s there.

the incredible power you wield in our parish...
Right. If if you consider the ability to disconnect your phone call as incredible power.


"The guy the Pope /should/ listen
to"


God has given you the rare gift of bilocation.
With it, you can attend both the First Friday
Devotions in Honor of Our Lady of Fatima and
the parish bake sale committee meetings.

We respect you, mostly because we fear the
incredible power you wield in our parish.

Provided by


Are You A Cultural Catholic?
brought to you by Quizilla
Read? I spend all day vaccuuming the sacristy, cleaning the altar linens, getting Father's cassocks from the laundry, and saying my fifteen novenas. When do you expect me to read?
Almost.
Thanks to Alicia for the giggle I needed.

I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don't want to do that.
That’s it! I have Lloyd Dobler’s dream job Too bad I’ve been too busy to write much about it. I haven’t even had time to address that dubious bottle of green Lourdes’ water.

What Not to Wear
Saying little and wearing a black T-shirt emblazoned with the image of mobster Al Capone, a Little Village man who allegedly owned the gun his 2-year-old nephew used to shoot a playmate appeared in court Tuesday for a bond hearing.
Yes, there are sometimes when we are judged by the clothes we wear. A court appearance is one of those times. When my sister was a public defender, she would tell me amazing stories of people who would use a court appearance to express their inner ‘personality’ or lack of common sense. And she would try, often unsuccessfully, to tell her clients that wearing a borrowed suit or sweater or whatever is better than appearing in court in a T-shirt bearing an assinine statement.

It works for me...



Via speculative catholic.

2 months, 2 weeks, 2 days...
This is becoming tooo real.
Best get organized.

Madonna will be punished for song, rabbi says
Only one? I think her punishable offenses could fill a nice double album.

"A wonderful bird is the pelican; his beak can hold more than his belly can..."
My mother was fond of quoting that rhyme about the pelican when my sister and I exhibited inclinations to overfill our plates or overstuff our mouths. It helped. But I think the 21st century mother should now carry a photo of that burst python...you know, the one whose mouth could hold more than his belly could. Compelling.

There’s nothing wrong with me...
that a demi-plie in fifth position wouldn’t exacerbate. So I think I’ll just file the big introduction to the ballet coloring book that I bought at the library book sale. Maybe we’ll have some fun with it after Christmas and the wedding.

My goal for this week-end is to use my time to prioritize things around the house. It looks like I’ll be working longer hours for the next month (which, with Christmas and a wedding on the horizon could be providential) and I desperately want to have some sort of organization at home. Certain projects should definitely wait until January - like the papier mache sarcophagus that we were going to construct for our Egypt study. Our small home gets a little crowded Thanksgiving through Christmas, and with Embot’s wedding added to the mix, the last thing we need is a life size papier mache sarcophagus in any stage of assembly.

So, now I must take advantage of the rush of energy that comes with the arrival of cold autumnal air. The energy may not last. And since I hate to turn the heat on until we absolutely must, the temptation to curl up under the fleecy blanket and finish my current reading and a stack of accumulated periodicals may be irresistible.

Python Bursts After Trying to Eat Gator
Oh...and Cruise and Katie Holmes Expecting.

On the Square - First Things blog...
But will Fr. Neuhaus tell us when he finds a mouse in his house? You know - the kind of thing that makes a blog worth reading.

If only...
real life were as simple as TV life.
I am not particularly proud to admit that I have slid back into the habit of watching Desperate Housewives on Sunday nite. Does one need to enumerate all the more edifying activities that one could pursue? I think not. There was, however, in last evening's program, a moment of recognition when the harried mother, recently returning to full-time work, arrives home to find that the full-time homemaking dad has let things slide. I know the feeling. ( I'm working more hours for several weeks and have shifted most of the house and school responsibilities to Rick...and he appears to have read that old "So quiet down cobwebs, dust go to sleep..." poem one too many times. OK, so baby is almost twelve, but there is always a more pressing need than the nuts and bolts basics of homemaking. Without everybody else pitching in we'd be sunk...but what really has me tearing my hair out is the fact that Rick doesn't see what needs doing. Is it a male thing? I don't know.) So, anyhow, the Desperate Housewife brings home a store bought rodent to shock her husband into a tidier frame of mind. And it worked like a dream. Unfortunately, in my house, the big dog caught a mouse the other day and I didn't return to find a glistening house and a spouse spritzing bleach everywhere. Of course, the Desperate Housewife set her rodent up in business on the kitchen counter. A field mouse in the basement doesn't pack the same punch. Oh, well, time to reassess my TV habits. And give the usual hygiene/gross out/Hanta virus lecture. And don't forget kids... this is the time of year when our outside friends are looking for a warm place to spend the winter.

Sounds good to me...

You Are 33 Years Old

Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe. 13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world. 20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences. 30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more! 40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.

What Age Do You Act?

Thanks to Smockmomma,

Wake Me Up When September Ends...
No time to talk now. Gotta run off to work. As soon as some pair of pants gets out of the dryer. (The all shades of khaki, so the first pair dry is the winner. ) Delicacy and pride forbid me saying why I won't just grab a skirt and throw it over my bare legs (but I think you get the drift.) This has just been a crazy month. I feel like I could sleep for a week. But even if I had the luxury of staying home today, there is the neighborhood association garage sales in which the family is participating. (I can't work up the enthusiasm. I'm parting with a platform rocker that has been in my family for ages. It's a real antique. I'm asking $75. Will go down to $50. What the heck, we're out of room. By the end of tomorrow it may be free to a good home)
Gotta run. Heard the dryer buzz. Must write more this week-end. Mustn't forget to mention the bottle of Lourdes water in my office at work. I think it has turned toxic...

So careful that my own sister doesn't know...

Your Blogging Type is Artistic and Passionate

You see your blog as the ultimate personal expression - and work hard to make it great. One moment you may be working on a new dramatic design for your blog... And the next, you're passionately writing about your pet causes. Your blog is very important - and you're careful about who you share it with.

What's Your Blogging Personality?

Via Alicia.

The Angry Twins have the scoop three months early....with video of Embot’s wedding reception.
Sorry Em and Ed...it was too cute to resist.
And the color scheme is the same as yours, too

Interesting article...
If you overlook the snarky joke in the first sentence.
And the fact that books that appeal specifically to Catholic homeschoolers were overlooked.

Charlie Watts has the answer...to my tired blood
“You can’t stop once you get going, if you’re a drummer. A guitar player can lay back in the middle. A drummer has to be there all the time. I didn’t know if I could make it.”*
This could be the answer to my malaise. I think, if families were bands, moms would be the drummers. Not to denigrate the importance of other family members, especially dads. But performing in the great arena of life, dads are the front men. There are other soloists of import. But mom is the drummer. The heart of the home which sets the beat for everyone else. Sometimes the necessity of consistency and constancy is just...exhausting.
But that’s the way it is. I’ll be Charlie. Rick can be Mick. And as long as nobody tries to be Keith Richards, we’ll be OK.

* This quote is from the 9/22/05 Rolling Stone, which I bought at the Jewel one morning last week. The clerk asked me if I was buying it for my kids, which left me with a feeling not unlike the indignation I would feel when a librarian or clerk would ask me if I was old enough for a particular piece of literature. Now they're implying I'm too old. But maturity and/or fatigue makes protest futile.

Oh, come on.  Do I have to spell it out for you?  Pheochromocytoma. 
Franny and I enjoy watching House on Tuesday nights. It’s good fun to see who gets the diagnosis first. We don’t have great diagnostic skills, but we are quite adept at picking up the clues that the writers plant. I think I beat Fran to the undiagnosed leprosy and the porphyria of last season. Last week’s premiere was rollicking good fun up until we shouted (from opposite parts of the house), “Pheochromocytoma!”

Rick likes House, too, which is unusual for him. Medical dramas just don’t cut it with him. He was enjoying the show. Up to the mention of adrenaline. When you’ve had the tumor of the week, it is not so amusing. (Pheos show up on TV more than you would think. They are a little weird, have strange symptoms and a big name. Removing them in real life is not nearly as easy as the TV docs make it look. Unlike some tumors, they are not snipped out immediately and quickly.) The hat tip to people who do not let their adrenaline turn them into raging maniacs was appreciated: See, you only overcame one of them.  Well, let’s just give Clarence a free pass, hmmm?  Course, you’re probably going to piss off all those other pheo sufferers who managed to control their rage attacks and become lawyers, race car doctors, and even doctors.  Removing that tumor puts a stop to those random shots adrenaline, but doesn’t absolve him.

Last night’s show was good, too. At dinner we had been discussing how totally convincing Hugh Laurie’s American accent is. For an extra degree of difficulty, he did the American accent compounded by nasal congestion. The man is a veritable Meryl Streep.

Hmmm....6:46 pm
The boys and I were going to put in twenty more minutes towards their holy hour. (I may have mentioned previously that ‘we’ are doing this in baby steps.) Fran wanted to cook dinner tonight and I don’t think it will be cooked and eaten in the next fourteen minutes. ( I’m realistic enough to know that this is not something to be undertaken with boys who haven’t eaten in seven hours.) Looks like I’ll just work on prepping for tomorrow night’s bible study for children. Maybe I can move my Recaro bucket seat over to the school table. That’s the ticket. This is comfy. I could sit here indefinitely. (a little deja vu of last evening’s Nip/Tuck season premiere...but that’s a whole other thing.)

Is it asking too much for things to flow smoothly on the third Wednesday of the month? Maybe.

Maybe it is good for me to practice being gracious and cheerful when I can’t get things to go my way. Even if the scope of my ambition is limited to spending an hour at adoration. When I am so chargrined about adjusting my plans that is a good sign that it’s about me, not about Jesus.

Time to relax, count my blessings and queue up for Fran’s pico de gallo...

...dangerous and it sets a bad example.
No kidding.
Sort of like JackAss...taken to the next level.

Who needs a genius grant?
I'm on a map of the world.

And the winner is...
Not me.

Speaking of Exodus.....
I think I am getting cold feet. Our parish is starting a Bible study with Catholic Scripture Study International. I volunteered to help with the children’s group. It is starting to sound like a little more work than I bargained for. (Having. Bad. Flashback. CCD. Teaching...Room. Spinning.) Not to mention the mandatory anti-abuse training for those who work with children, implemented after the time I was hired to work as a primary school aide two years ago. (Another Flashback. Children. Lines. Playground...Starting to sweat...) I just couldn’t commit to attending the session last night which was held at 6:30pm about 30 miles from here. I’ve passed the background check. I’m allowed to work in the Church. But I’m not committing to attending the training until I know that there are more students signed up for the evening session. Because right now the total evening children’s enrollment is Eddie. Who will be withdrawn if no one else is registered. I thought this would be a good opportunity to enrich his education while mingling with other kids. Sitting in a classroom alone with me once a week from 7:00 to 9:00 just isn’t going to work. And, to tell the truth, now that I’ve looked at the adult study materials, I hope I get a chance to join the grown-up class. That looks like it will great.

Customers who bought this book also bought....
Seed Leaf Flower Fruit by Maryjo Koch is one of my favorite “nature” books. So I was really tickled to find Bird Egg Feather Nest at the Friends’ Used Book Sale (Friends of the Library, that is - not Quakers).

I wish I had a week off to stay home and play with my new books. And I didn’t even go quite as berserk as I did last year. Never had time to give the art books a good look. (not that we’ll suffer without one more art book) The religion books had nothing really substantial. (I think the local clergy - i.e., the men I work for - found all the good stuff. But who am I to begrudge them the opportunity?) I think I came a little late to the humor section, too. But still...the treasures....

Sic transit gloria mundi..
No miracle on State Street: Marshall Field's to change to Macy's
I rarely shop at Field’s anymore, but it holds lovely memories from my youth. My wedding dress was from Field’s. I remember buying dresses - even in the children's department - when there were clerks who actually helped you find what you needed, zipped up hard to reach zippers and offered opinions on what looked good and what didn’t.

Budgetary constraints have made me much more of a Target girl, which is OK. Since Field’s isn’t the kind of place where you can buy clothes, cosmetics, doggy treats and garden implements. But Field’s is still the place of memories and I just can’t envision it as being the same under the Macy’s name. I guess, in a snit, I could take my business to Gimbels. But I think Gimbels was bought out by Field’s about 20 years ago.

But I don't want to go to work...
Maybe it's the stormy weather. Or the fact that I want to stay home and play with all the books we found at the book sale.

I'm having one of those days when I dread all the paper pushing. I know it is essential. And serving the mission of the Church. But I had another moment on Friday when someone mentioned the extreme dislike most people have for the Bouggereau Pieta Mass cards. (would link to pic here but have a different computer and cannot even find a way to access the website...) I went back to my desk where I looked at the copy I keep on my desk and marvelled at all the sorrow and power so dynamically distilled into one painting. Then my mind jumped from that moment when Mary held the body of her beloved Son in her arms one last time to now. And wondered how it has turned into so much paper pushing. (Perish the thought of what happened in the days before computers and photocopies and everything was done more slowly and with the carbons...)
That's why I like my Bouggereau Pieta. It helps for those, "That's what it all about, Charlie Brown," moments.

My apologies to Miss Frances...
but maybe you should have yelled, "I'm back," when you tossed my shoes behind me. I might have sat at the computer all night waiting for them to return. Oh, well, a woman who is afraid to walk barefoot through her own house is not much of a housekeeper...

Is this a joke? A test?
So Fran asks to borrow my sandals for ten minutes to run up to the gas station.
An hour later I am sitting here waiting for them to return.
And I thought it was convenient that 4 of the five girls in this house wear the same size shoe.
It's not.
I want my flaps back.

So I’ll never has a Porsche with Recaro seats.
I now have a Recaro seat at the iMac.
I’m typing 100 miles an hour and having the time of my life.
Actually, I think I need to adjust the seat. The lumbar support is great in a driving position but leaves a bit to be desired in the typing position. Oh, well, it beats the rocking chair I had been using.

STD vaccines in works, but for children
or
My increasing disdain for public health officials.
"I appreciate a parent's concern that their kid is not sexually active. They may not be now, but they will be in the future," said Julie Morita, medical director at the Chicago Department of Public Health. "The point is we are not assuming that all 11- or 12-year-olds are having sexual relations, [but] we assume they will be in the near future."

More that one GKC?
After Mass today we are headed back to the Friends of the Library book sale. It’s half price day.

I stopped at the sale Friday and found the usual plethora of books. An assortment that left me weak in the knees and ready to fill my tote bag to the point of being untotable. There were some excellent deals that will be great for our study of ancient Egypt. And loads of fun stuff. The best part about half price day is not only the halved prices, but the fact that the merchandise has been well churned by the shoppers and it will be like looking at a whole new assortment.

Eddie and I were enjoying The Ultimate LEGO book before dinner on Friday night. (Who’s up for building a replica of Mt. Rushmore?) I was caught off guard by a picture of a small duck, an early LEGO toy designed by GKC. Hmm. That’s strange. I guess I live in my own bubble and know only one GKC. LEGO afficianados have Godtfred Kirk Christiansen as their GKC. But we know who the real one is...

Just kind of a sad, crummy week. For a variety of reasons.
But I can eek out time for a little game...
Haven’t tried it at work. Yet.
How would you treat telemarketers?
Start telling them about how God saved me from sin and debauchery...


You are Augustine! You are a great thinker, but be
careful not to let your past immoderation freak
you out about good times. It's really ok to
take some pleasure in material things.


Which Saint Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Via Heart Speaks to Heart.

ep·i·zo·ot·ic
adj. Affecting a large number of animals at the same time within a particular region or geographic area. Used of a disease.
n. An epizootic disease.
For much of my life, I was sure that epizootic was a word that my father made up. Any time I was afflicted by a vague feeling of dis-ease, rendering me unable to attend school, Dad chalked it up to “the epizootics.” That must be what I had this week-end. A little FUO, achiness and irresistible urge to sleep. So almost nothing was accomplished. I was even dragging a little bit at the end of the week, though I had enough energy to sit at my desk and wonder if funny little spot on my finger was the beginning of Osler’s nodules (which I’ve had before and is a sign of being really sick...) and then GOOGLE Osler’s nodules (lots of info and I learned some cool things about Dr. Osler and his influence on medicine and its language. But the big lesson? If you’re well enough to be at work and GOOGLE your symptoms, you are probably not that ill.

And I did pull myself together to return after dinner to see Cardinal George address our parish. Quite excellent...and worth showing up an hour early to get a good seat. (Rick was supposed to go with me, but he came home all dragged out from another day of moving stuff around to help the hurricane evacuees. So another date night falls through due to good deed doing. Back where I come from there are men who do nothing all day but good deeds. They are called phila... er, phila... er, yes, er, Good Deed Doers. So the boys were getting a behind in their schoolwork and the house isn’t looking too good. I suppose being married to a phil...Good Deed Doer beats being married to a philanderer. And this is a tangible experience that the boys can’t find in a textbook. Plus they were able to ride up to Wisconsin in a ‘fancy’ Greyhound-like bus. That was interesting...) Anyway....Rick missed a great talk and the added thrill of the last question/remark taken from the congregation being an obnoxious and off-target comment from a parishioner. I really must write about that... when I’m feeling more rational.

Yesterday was my godson’s second birthday. I was amused at the fact that I was much fussier and discerning when gift shopping than I remember being with my own children’s playthings. A playfood set (the cool kind with Velcro, so that a kid can pretend to slice and dice) caught my eye when Eddie and I were at Target last week. But I had my reading glasses on during Saturday’s expedition and noticed that the toy was recommended for children 5 and up. If this were for my own children I would have purchased it and winnowed out any tiny choking hazards. But for someone else’s child I feel compelled to follow the manufacturers advisory. So I settled on more Little People (that’s what we gave him last year, but there are always new People...)

The nap I took after returning from Target lasted all afternoon. After a lovely dinner (served in bed, at Rick’s suggestion. Maybe I was being pampered. Or perhaps my being sprawled on the couch was just bringing everyone else down.) I made at least three attempts at finishing an article about the black woman who is the latest president of Brown University. At some point, I believe, the article attempts to reconcile her presidency with the Brown family’s history as slave traders. But I never got that far. President Simmons has a CV so impressive that reading it made me tired. I finally gave up when one of the dogs stepped on my glasses during a rest break.

Even though I slept most of Saturday, I went back to bed after early Mass yesterday and by the time we were scheduled to leave for the little guy’s birthday party (to be followed by a stop at surprise party for an old longtime friend’s fiftieth birthday) I knew I wasn’t going anywhere. Another nice thing about large families: if one member can’t attend an event, there is still quite an entourage to send.

But, afterall, tomorrow was another day. Or shall I say, today was another day. The epizootics seem to have passed. Which was a darned good thing - just a crazy work day that would have been one of the worst possible days to call in sick. (Not that I get ‘sick’ days...so I want to have one foot in the grave before I consider calling in sick. Which brings me to the question that I would have asked the Cardinal: “Can non-benefits-eligible Archdiocesan employees accrue untaken bathroom breaks towards a paid vacation?”)

Oh, well. So it’s back to normal.

While I was sleeping...

...the toad died. This was not a total surprise. He had been having trouble catching crickets in a small closed environment. The body was a tad too desiccated to be used for a dissection project. Necropsy was certain to show he died of old age. We’ve had him so long I don’t remember not having him.

...Bridget made an incredibly realistic - or so I’ve heard - cast of her nose as a gift for her boyfriend. Why? He likes to pinch her nose. In a nice way. Not a Three Stooges sort of way. It is a cute nose. Out of all my children, Bridget does have the cutest nose. Sorry to the rest of you kids. Your noses are nice. But Bridget’s is cute.

...the girl with the cute nose found out that the brother of her high school boyfriend has been released from prison. This guy was a bad egg but I don’t think he’s spent the last four years plotting (a la Sideshow Bob) revenge on our Princess. Revenge for what, you may ask? She came between him and his brother. But he was in prison for holding up a liquor store. Twice. In the same night.

...Fran took the big dog swimming in the lake. And at work today she saw three dogs that have contracted blastomycosis . All three had been to the beach/lake. Of course, Fran can GOOGLE with the best of us, so she is worried about the dog. Not that it would be a hopeless...but the drug regimen is dreadfully expensive. She assured us we aren’t in any danger. Unless Cody would die. Then the spores would be released into the air.
Blastomycosis is not generally considered a zoonotic disease, meaning one that is potentially contagious to people. I guess that would make it an epizootic. But I won’t read any more about it. The symptoms are starting to sound familiar...depression, fever that doesn't respond to antibiotics, coughing, shortness of breath, exercise intolerance, enlarged lymph nodes...

Driving around yesterday morning...
WXRT had a Saturday morning flashback to 1973. Not the sweetest trip down memory lane. This memory lane was a toxic dreck dumpsite.

Don’t believe me? Then try the blog meme that I found at Hot Carmel Sunday. Go here and click on the year you graduated from high school to find a list of the top 100 songs of that year.
Bold the songs you like, strike through the ones you hate and underline your favorite. Do nothing to the ones you don't remember or don't care about. Commentary is optional, as is good taste.

1. Tie A Yellow Ribbon 'Round The Ole Oak Tree, Tony Orlando and Dawn Gag me. With a spoon.
2. Bad Bad Leroy Brown, Jim Croce
3. Killing Me Softly With His Song, Roberta Flack
4. Let's Get It On, Marvin Gaye
5. My Love, Paul McCartney and Wings
6. Why Me, Kris Kristofferson
7. Crocodile Rock, Elton John
8. Will It Go Round In Circles, Billy Preston
9. You're So Vain, Carly Simon
10. Touch Me In The Morning, Diana Ross No, don’t, really.
11. The Night The Lights Went Out In Georgia, Vicki Lawrence Blech
I'll put the rest in the comment box. 1973 was such a vast wasteland that it makes me ashamed to admit I owned a radio...

If , Illinois readers, after reading Disputations you, like me, are still are not sure if you fall between:
"Physical Sufficiency," a state in which people have enough to keep body and soul together. They don't need help just to stay alive, but they aren't doing much better than just staying alive. OR
"Unbecoming Adequacy." Those whose wealth is unbecomingly adequate have sufficient wealth that strangers wouldn't think of them as charity cases, but not enough to live as they ought according to their station in life.
you can still find some great deals like brand name soft toothbrushes 10 for $10 at the OSCO. And moist towelettes. And don’t forget the TP, PT and LT, too.

Note to Embot: Don’t forget to check out you store of Dental Show booty!
See ya tomorrow.

Like I said...
refugee is not a dirty word.
Survival of New Orleans blog concurs.
Finally, I don't care what Jesse Jackson thinks about the word "refugee." A refugee is a person dispossessed of his house and property and who flees the area looking for... check it out... REFUGE. I will continue using this word. It certainly is not racist like he said.

LT, TP, PT etc.
Besides the opportunity to contribute to today’s second collection at Mass for Hurricane relief, we have the opportunity to help refugees (I thought that meant people seeking refuge, i.e. not a perjorative term, until Jesse Jackson told me otherwise), evacuees or whatever is the proper term for our southerly neighbors displaced by last week’s cataclysmic events. There is a group coming to stay very nearby. Local churches have been asked to donate various necessary items. Rick and Chuck spent much of the day doing, well, basically what his foundation is called to do (technology support) plus working out deals for low tech necessities. They were in their element.

Eddie and I did our part after the early Mass, picking up snacks, drinks, moist towlettes and other paper products. That, to me, would necessitate LT. (Ladies Things. If you need them you know what I mean. If you need to ask, you don’t need them, so don’t ask.) When we dropped our haul at the rectory garage I was pleased to see that some other lady had the same idea.

And, when Franny was going through the house with her bag of collected items, that was the first item she asked about. That and would it be all right if she comandeered Bridget’s three unused toothbrushes. Fine with me. As long as they’re still sealed in the original packaging. We’ll get some back into her emergency stash before she knows they were missing.

Mr Winkle: The Cutest Dog in the Universe.
Well, yeah, he's cute. What does he have that our Scrappy doesn't? A talented stagemother willing to devote her energy to promoting his career. That'll be have to be up to you, Bridget, because I'm immersed in Eddie's competitive LEGO career.

Mid-day at the Oasis...
We had a nice, albeit brief, family reunion with Karen, Ryan and the kids at the Lake Forest Oasis. Bridget was working and Em was out of town, but otherwise the gang was all there. A big enough group that we had to push together three tables. The dining experience has changed a lot since Karen and I were kids, but the big thrill - traffic speeding below one’s feet - remains the same. Eddie and cousin Dave were obsessed with the nearby jumbo claw machine. That’s why I didn’t tip the maitre d’ (aka Chuck) for finding us deluxe seating. This time we remembered the boots for Auntie Karen, so she will never again show up at a messing crime scene wearing open toed pumps.

Time to get caught up on all the news. Em’s wedding plans. School for the cousins. Eddie’s triumph at the LEGO store. (We were there yesterday. His record still stands. So if no one beat it today, I guess he’s the man.) Karen in trouble with state government (from governor on down) for a three line email to a local radio discussion of drug enforcement in the north woods. (Sorry, guv, she’s right.)

Then time to hit the road. School starts at our parish tomorrow which means parking lot mayhem. If I didn’t keep irregular hours, I’d be tempted to pay the bus fee and ride to church with the kids. (There must be a lot of room on the buses because it looks as though most of the dear ones are personally delivered by maternal chauffeurs piloting Escalades and Navigators. Blech....)

Time to do more school work with our guys. I’ve sort of violated the no school before Labor Day rule this year, because I’ll need to be working some extra hours in September. I’ve tried to explain that we want to do a lot of September now, and we can relive August in September. Doesn’t make much sense to the boys. Or me, either. But we try.

I Can’t Even Imagine.
NOAA is our usual educational and outdoor activity planning resource. Today it’s an integral tool for my prayers.

And in the words of my late father......
updated for the 2005 economy....
"That and $4.50 will get you a cup of coffee!


Isis

Indeed, you are 95% erudite, 91% sensual, 58% martial, and 62% saturnine.

This Egyptian supreme Goddess is certainly the most influential deity on subsequent cultures. She was the ideal figure of womanhood, usually compared with the Greek Goddess Demeter or her Roman version, Ceres.


Isis
was one element of a Holy Trinity, the remaining two figures being her brother and husband Osiris
and their heroic son Horus. She was the Goddess of Magic for her brilliance, as well as the Goddess of Love because of her tenacious devotion.

She is often shown with wings, curving to caress coffins and sarcophagi of many a king. In certain papyri she is shown with her falcon wing headdress, covering her ears. One of her sacred symbols is the sistrum, a musical instrument that was believed to ward off evil spirits. Isis' sistrum was carved bearing the image of a cat and was representative of the Moon.

Isis was the High Priestess and an omnipotent magician as well as the only being ever to discover the secret name of Ra. She invariably carries the ankh, the symbol for eternal life. Her name is, by the rules of numerology, adding up to the number “2” and she just so happens to be depicted on the tarot card “Key 2 – The High Priestess”.

The Fifteen Goddesses

These are the 15 categories of this test. If you score above average in …

…all or none of the four variables: Neit


Erudite: Minerva

Sensual: Aphrodite

Martial: Artemis

Saturnine: Persephone

Erudite & Sensual: Isis

Erudite & Martial: Sekhmet

Erudite & Saturnine: Nemesis

Sensual & Martial: Hera

Sensual & Saturnine: Bast

Martial & Saturnine: Ilamatecuhtli

Erudite, Sensual & Martial: Maeve

Erudite, Sensual & Saturnine: Freya

Erudite, Martial & Saturnine: Sedna

Sensual, Martial & Saturnine: Macha

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:

You scored higher than 99%on erudite

You scored higher than 80% on sensual

You scored higher than 40% on martial

You scored higher than 40% on saturnine

Link: The Mythological Goddess Test written by Nitsuki on Ok Cupid

A clue...
that it's time to get back to school work.
While plotting my living room dusting strategy, I noticed that our little statue of Romulus and Remus with the Capitoline Wolf was nowhere to be seen. A simple inquiry, "has anyone seen Romulus and Remus?," lead to a response of, "Romulus and Remus? They suck." Owing to my delicate sensibilities, it took about three go rounds before I got the joke. I had to restate my policy on the general use of the word "suck." Babies and vacuums suck. Otherwise, try not to use the word.

According to the jailhouse homeschool lawyers, the joke should supposedly be OK. On the basis that Romulus and Remus are (were) babies. I'm not impressed. And certain family members are still repeating "Romulus and Remus? They suck." Oh the juvenile capacity to get the maximum mileage out of a mediocre pun.

"Late have I loved you, Beauty so ancient and so new, Late have I loved you!"
Jeff Miller strikes again with brilliant reportage of World Misspent-Youth Day.
World Misspent-Youth Day was open to those 35 and above who in their youth lead lives not exactly pious, which really means open to all of us 35 and above.

Weep & Moan
Weep & Mop
Sweep & Mop
No trouble with task delegation around here.
My sister called Tuesday morning to say that they would be coming to town to bury her husband’s grandmother somewhere on the northside of Chicago on Saturday, and could they bunk at our house on Friday night. Well, what kind of sister would turn down an opportunity to see family that she sees so infrequently? Not even I - though I knew it would mean a blitzkrieg of housework owing to a combination of more ‘out of the home’ work for me, more intense hours spent by Rick and the boys working on his charitable foundation (how was I to know I’d wake up one day married to the local Bob-freakin’-Geldof of the IT world?), the fact that I’ve never been a great homemaker anyway (The SHE card file worked for a while, then I got pregnant with Martha - in 1986. SHE meaning Sidetracked Home Executives, not She - A Magazine of positive and inspiring articles on women for lesbians. I tried restarting the card file but never quite got back on the wagon. The last time I was sidetracked by creating a lovely collaged wooden box in which to keep the 3 x 5 cards that I should have been using. Oh, well. The box looks nice. Especially when I brush away the patina of oleaginous dust...) So,yes, one could say that we are living in CHAOS (Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome)

Tuesday night I worked on school stuff and meditated upon my cleaning strategy. Franny actually posted some clear instructions on the dry erase board to get things started. Said instructions were surely read, if not followed.

Wednesday I returned from work to pick up Eddie for our promised expedition to the LEGO store. Someone had erased the ‘S’ from the word sweep. Wednesday we were to weep and mop.

Thursday morning, lots of planning, including a scheme to rush the oriental rug to the cleaners and and vacuum the ceiling of the upstairs bathroom. (Don’t ask...) The memo board now says weep and moan. But not much has been done. Rick and Chuck are moving computers about the county and I’m coming home from work early to be with Eddie and clean.

Karen calls me at work. “We’ve had a change in plans. I hope you won’t be mad.....” My panicked heart assuming that they would arrive tonight. But, instead, her in-laws wanted to put everybody up in a hotel so Karen’s husband could have some quality time with his brother and sister who both live out in some frontier type state. That makes sense. Very good sense. Now we can tidy up at a reasonable pace. And meet the cousins for lunch on Sunday before they return to the north woods. Maybe at the Tollway Oasis. Karen thinks that is a dining experience that her children would relish. And there just happens to be an Oasis about 3 miles away from here.

Who knew...
that there would be such a thing as competitive LEGO assembling? And for all the times that I tried to discourage construction at table, in the dark back seat of car rolling down Hwy 41 after sundown, in the bathtub and just about everywhere else*, I am truly repentant. For I now am the mother of the current record holder at our local LEGO store. (3 minutes and 48 seconds, without consulting the instruction book) To think that I tried to discourage the little savant. The contest ends in 3 days - during which time he may return to the mall once a day to try to better his score. ...even if he doesn’t win the contest I think it did Edward a world of good to see that he left the other 3 kids working at his table to eat his virtual modular dust.

*Church. We held the line at church. There may have been attempts to smuggle blocks in various pockets, but at no time was anything assembled.

"Generally speaking, Catholics do not like to have non-Catholics try to get them to leave their faith,"
Interesting Chicago Tribune article on the intrusion of suburban Protestant megachurches into traditionally Catholic urban areas.

While I’m thinking of it, I must brag about my Charles’ willingness to take a “spiritual bullet” for Rick and me by telling the Jehovah’s Witnesses that we “weren’t available.” (I don’t think you could really consider that a lie. Spiritually speaking , we weren’t available for the Witnesses. I didn’t really want my session with The New Yorker interrupted, either.) I was sitting upstairs reading when I heard Chuck head them off before they rang the door bell. He was quite polite as he responded that, yes, indeed, he had heard the word of the Lord. And quickly retreated into the house.

"We're trying to get unreachable people, the ones who are burned out, disgusted and haven't been to church for years," said Escobar, the bongo player. Maybe they should be trolling the pages of the latest Chicago Magazine. The institutional Church herself is quite favorably reported upon. The Opus Dei supernumerary had a bigger, better picture than Barbara Blaine. (The better to see that he wasn’t a homicidal albino. No offense intended to any albinos.) But the average Joe Catholics in the street came across as rather poorly catechized and lackadaisical. You know, the not uncommon “love the Church, just don’t have time for Mass but I’m sure it’s all good with Jesus.”

I rely (perhaps too much) on Google news to keep me updated on what is going on in the world. From time to time I must remind myself that despite the pool of sources it draws from, I am still getting a rather skewed view of the world. And its priorities. (Big Ed explained to me how items work their way to the top of the Google heap. It makes sense. And it is, I would suppose, an accurate mirror of what people want to know. ) But there is still something wrong in a system that would have let me go unaware of the killing of Br. Roger of Taize while keeping me posted on P. Diddy’s dropping of the “P” from his name. And the problems of Eminem and Courtney Love. Who are probably more in need of prayer than the late Frere Roger...but it still doesn’t seem right.

Something old, borrowed and blue...
Note to Embot, re: necklace for your wedding.
How about my Wedgwood daisy necklace? It satisfies 3 crucial criteria.
Didn't wear it at my wedding. I wore some antique pearls that Aunt Tommy gave me. Wish I could give them to you but I managed to break them at my wedding reception. Still have gotten around to having them restrung. (By now, I don't know where they are.) But the Wedgwood is in good taste. That has the matching earrings, but I think I lent those to one of your sisters and they've gone missing. (the earrings, not the sisters.)

PS - Am getting some good feedback on the picture of the purple and white houndstooth flats that I posted on the memo board. I may just have to go to Old Navy to give them a look-see.

August 15...
The yearly tradition arrives. The once a year nightmare in which it is Christmas Eve and I have done absolutely no preparation. This year's edition: We're staying with the in-laws, all the guests have arrived, and I must try to sneak away in the middle of the night to do my shopping. We still have a baby in diapers, who I must take with me. As soon as I can change his diaper. We're in Illinois, but I'm headed to the Marshall Field's at Mayfair, outside of Milwaukee. I tell Rick that he'll have to wrap the presents when we get home, so I can decorate our own tree (in the playroom, where we always had a tree when we lived with Rick's folks) and then bake some cookies. All during the night of December 24.

I have a permutation of this scenario every year. Always variations on the theme of unpreparedness. Usually in August or September. I don't think it ever happens more than once a year - so I'm safe until 2006. No wonder I felt tired today. I not only examined all of my Christmas ornaments in my sleep - I was also making new ones!

Take a look at the September issue of Chicago Magazine.
The Catholic Church in Chicago. I hear that the articles are fairly...fair. Since I’m cheap, I’ll wait ‘til I can look at a friend’s copy. Or find a copy in a waiting room somewhere.

True Love
Dawn Turner Trice writes in the Chicago Tribune about a Chicago family facing a daunting challenge. And a way we can help.
Phillip and Ama Thomas have been married for eight years. Until recently, their lives were fairly uneventful and filled with children's laughter...

Sudoku
My newest bad habit...
It must have some redeeming value. Please. (You know. Like Tetris has made me more efficient at loading groceries in the car.)

Only £100,000?
I have it on the best authority (my hubby who once lunched with the Dean of the Cathedral) that the upkeep on Lincoln Cathedral runs approximately one million pounds per year. So I can’t even try to rationalize ‘selling out’ to help with maintenance.

Way to go, Sr. Mary!
Sister Mary Michael, 61, knelt in prayer outside the building where scenes for the blockbuster starring Tom Hanks are being shot. She believes the book by author Dan Brown contains heresy.

Asked if she thought the people making the film would care about her protest, she said: "I don't suppose they do, but that doesn't matter tuppence to me. It matters to me what God thinks, not what the film crew think.

The Urban Dictionary, an online collection of user-defined slang terms, lists: "Dooced: to lose one's job because of one's website. Dude, I heard Janey got dooced last week."
The news of late, as is becoming usual, is filled with more doocings or near-doocings...
I shall take this under advisement.
But now I am off to Mass. Then to work. Where I shall be early. And attentive. And won’t think Blog.

It’s a Small, Small World
So I’m procrastinating on the wrapping and packing.
Thinking of my sister reminds me that I was talking to the people in the other half of our duplex. They were headed off to their oldest son’s wedding out east. It turns out that this kid - oops, I didn’t even know he was out of college yet - is in his second year at a small private law school in Vermont. The same school from which Karen graduated twenty years ago. What a coink-i-dinks!

Emergency, emergency...
everybody to get from street. That’s just our family catchphrase (lovingly lifted from the classic comedy, The Russians are Coming, The Russians are Coming.) for moments of controled chaos and panic. So the emergency for this Sunday night? Martha just got off the phone from wishing her cousin a happy eleventh birthday and announced that she has decided to take a few days to visit Auntie Karen and the family before school starts. (Many thanks to Karen for buying the train ticket for her...money being one of the reasons that we had been delaying even considering the trip. And she didn’t want to drive, since the car Karen gave her last summer just barely made it down here. There are no more long road trips left in its future. ) So now we have about 18 hours for her to pull a few things together (and mothers of girls know how many things constitute a “few.”) before she grabs the train in Glenview. I hadn’t even wrapped Annie’s birthday gifts, so I’d best do that so that they can be hand delivered. Of course, I still haven’t sent my sister’s birthday gifts (has it been that long since the end of April?) so I’d better get cracking. Quick, let's think about anything else we've been meaning to send up north. Oh, yeah, those heavy duty waders for Karen to wear to crime scenes...
now where did we put them?

Am I lonely? Upset? Confused? Yes.
Sometimes, me too, Jen. But is taking off most of your clothes and undulating on the pages of Vanity Fair a good way to work through it? Or do we call that “acting out?”

Now I’m seeing it everywhere. This 600 piece puzzle of the world (OK, 599, we‘ve lost Maine. The state of Maine is now etched in the boys’ minds as a negative space.) is challenging and fun. I kept it in the shrink wrap and was saving it for a fall back project later in the year. That gave it extra appeal and Eddie was begging to work on it. Big Ed gave him a lot of help and now it’s done and ready for disassembly - before we lose any more pieces. Not as easy as one might think. Ed said the big fooler is that the trivia info written on some of the ocean does not appear near the country which it describes.

Cool site....
Toy Maker.
We'll have fun with this.

Plans for the week-end?
None here. Not going anywhere. Weather’s too crummy for anything but bare necessities in the garden. (Time to replenish the butterfly nectar. In hot weather it needs to be changed frequently or it will ferment or do something toxic.) No plans for movies...have to wait ‘til payday to catch up with March of the Penguins. Can’t even watch TV without being assaulted by ads for 40 Year Old Virgin and that revolting Deuce Bigalow Redundant Gigolo redux. They’re everywhere.

There’s a load of iMac’s in my living room awaiting transfer to the St. Isidore Foundation’s storage facility. They’re everywhere. So much for my plans to give the living room a good cleaning. BUT THERE IS SOMETHING CONSTRUCTIVE THAT CAN BE DONE...Check out Dawn Eden’s blog and Project Max. A great opportunity to help Planned Parenthood hoist themselves on their own petard.

OK, let's try this again...

the Wit (61% dark, 23% spontaneous, 15% vulgar)

your humor style: CLEAN | COMPLEX | DARK You like things edgy, subtle, and smart. I guess that means you're probably an intellectual, but don't take that to mean pretentious. You realize 'dumb' can be witty--after all isn't that the Simpsons' philosophy?--but rudeness for its own sake, 'gross-out' humor and most other things found in a fraternity leave you totally flat. (YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN WORRIED WHEN YOU SAW YOU SAW YOUR FUTURE HUSBAND'S FRAT HOUSE. YOU WERE LOOKING AT YOUR FUTURE) I guess you just have a more cerebral approach than most. You have the perfect mindset for a joke writer or staff writer.Your sense of humor takes the most thought to appreciate, but it's also the best, in my opinion. (RIGHT...THAT'S WHY YOU'RE ANSWERING PHONES AT A CHURCH FOR A LIVING.) PEOPLE LIKE YOU: Jon Stewart - Woody Allen - Ricky Gervais

My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender : You scored higher than 0% on dark You scored higher than 0% on spontaneous You scored higher than 0% on vulgar

Link: The 3 Variable Funny Test written by jason_bateman on Ok Cupid

Never would be too soon.
Pfizer Inc. pledged not to directly promote any new product to patients for at least six months after putting it on the market and to target only adult audiences when touting impotency treatment Viagra on TV.
Don’t even get me started on ED drugs.
And I can live without all the other ads, too. Watching any of the network nightly newscasts makes me feel like I am among a select group of hypochondriacs or the particularly frail. It leads to me to wonder if there is a single person alive who is both interested in a quick gloss of the day’s news and not in need of fiber/anti-hypertensives/statins/impotency help/analgesics and/or something for overactive stomach acid production.

I don’t suppose...
that 21st century high school students are typing blood drawn from each other, pithing live frogs and growing virulent strains of heaven-only-knows from swabbings taken from the principal’s desk. Which may explain why my lab experience was richer and more meaningful than the present, judging by this USA Today article. Oh, for the careless yet relatively safe good old days.

Did I mention that once in a while teachers would be known to pass around a blob of mercury? Don't think that happens much these days...

Prayers Needed via Alicia.

“I’m driven to my knees by the conviction that I have nowhere else to go.”
Good LifeSite article on the faith of the late Susan Torres’ extended family;
...She continued, “I tell my children, now do you understand why you must go to Church on Sundays and keep your spiritual life in order? You can’t get it in good order in the middle of something like this. Faith is the only thing that gets you through.”

Catholic faithful answer the call
I would have, too. But while the Church militant is processing, somebody has to be picking up the phones at the Church bureaucratic.

But what a beautiful day for such an event. After a string of hot, humid irritating days the weather is giving us a break. I wish the Trib hadn’t relegated this to the category of ‘local’ news. Mayor Daley in a pouty snit is likewise quite local, but that makes its way to the front page. The local news section is a lot more along the lines of auto wrecks in the outlying parts of the city coupled with stories of two headed frogs found in exurban swimming pools.

Then again...some days you just skip the whole thing.

Your Blogging Type is Artistic and Passionate

You see your blog as the ultimate personal expression - and work hard to make it great. One moment you may be working on a new dramatic design for your blog... And the next, you're passionately writing about your pet causes. Your blog is very important - and you're careful about who you share it with.

What's Your Blogging Personality?

Celebrating the Creation of Families
Just when I thought the niche magazine market had been exhausted. Yeah, I bought my share of Modern Bride when I was at that age. And I’m a bit perplexed that prom preparations have their own specific publications. But when I went into to the local bookstore and saw Conceive Magazine I knew I had seen it all. (Maybe not...what’s next? Fancy Funerals and Wonderful Wakes?)

There is probably some info that would be helpful to all young families, but I cannot imagine that one cannot find health advice and support anywhere else. The whole thing seemed so, well, icky. Really icky. Like when the contents get down to “--let’s go shopping! Tips on how to choose the best donor gametes—eggs and sperm—for your growing family.” Let’s not.

The implications of the cloned dog...
are too horrifying to ponder. And the more we've talked about it, the layers of creepiness just keep piling up. Anyone who has listened to Bob Barker knows that there is not shortage of natural born dogs. This ain't about dogs.

So all I have to say is, if I were going to clone a dog, an afghan is the last dog I would create. Blech.

No, not the massage shop...

At this moment I am having the time of my life. Propped up in bed with the laptop complete with ethernet cable and iTunes. I could stay like this forever...Fortunately, it will not last. Who would want to be become the local Brian Wilson.

Pretty nice way to end a crummy day. I didn’t feel like going to work. (I was feeling cold on a 90 degree day - for me that is a very bad sign.) I went in to work just long enough to do everything that I had to do today and came home. Slithering off to bed with an unusually wretched head-ache. I could not even muster the energy to rail at the young enterprisers holding a garage sale in my driveway. I’m just barely getting my head above water after about two months of being blessed with extra opportunities to pick up hours at work coupled with a vague cloud of dismay and irritation. Because I can expect extra work time again in September, I’ve been trying to get going early on schoolwork. But what was the use today? Like anything else can compete with the Cirque du Refuse being performed in the driveway.

A two hour nap helped considerably, and though my head was still pounding, I found my way downstairs to make a strawberry smoothie and look for today’s mail. When someone announced a package for me I thought maybe it was the backordered Egyptian stickers from Dover. I couldn’t think of anything else that would be on its way. But...on closer inspection, the package was not from the dubious sounding Massage Shop but a media outlet called The Message Shop (8 point type return addresses are so confusing) from which I ordered some copies of Untold Blessing: Three Paths to Holiness with Rev. Robert Barron. I didn’t expect to receive them so quickly, but it was nice to have something good to keep my mind off the garage sale. Reading hurt too much and that left me to pass the time with Dr. Phil or Inside Edition.

I knew the DVD would be excellent. ( OK, I was in the audience when it was taped.) But it was good to hear again what Father had to say. And I must add that watching it with one eye open and the rest of my head sunk into a pillow, it was beautifully edited with the addition of illustrative artwork. I’m looking forward to watching it again with both eyes.

They are priced to make them available to everyone and to facilitate stocking up for Christmas gifts, etc. And the DVD has a nice includes a nice little travelogue sort of thing about Mundelein Seminary and other good stuff. Check it out.

Does this still work?
The blog is about as neglected as the housework. If I have to start somewhere, it might as well be here. And thanks to technology and an industrious family, I can blog from the [relative] comfort of my boudoir. It's getting progressively difficult to find a quiet place to think and write. Well, there's work. But they're not paying me to generate original thoughts and homemaking hints. That I have to do on my own time. If only the cold front would pass through and my room could cool down. I should be thankful, though...yesterday I returned home from work twenty minutes after the power had gone out. It didn't last much more than an hour and I wasn't too panicked, since the fridge and freezer were fairly empty and we had nothing to lose but our minds...

Has anyone seen the July 24 edition of Our Sunday Visitor?
Cool stuff.
Familiar blogs.

Whatever...




Take the What High School
Stereotype Are You? quiz.

I could buy a Volvo with what I’ve spent on LEGOS.

I've seen the needle and the damage done
A little part of it in everyone...
or
Where have I been?
Good question.
At work - a lot. And I have a few other little projects that I’m trying to do. Heaven knows it isn’t because I’m throwing myself into household maintenance. Work is always interesting - never the same day twice. But since I’ve been putting in more hours I come home all achy and irritable from sitting so much. Shame on me for laughing at the former Wisconsin Senator William Proxmire’s stand-up desk. (It’s not an urban legend. I saw it when I visited his office in the seventies.) No kidding...sitting is a killer. (Yeah, there are other killers, too. This having been one of those weeks that I started to think that the funeral choir should add The Needle and the Damage Done to its repertoire.)

Yesterday started out all wrong. I just wanted a strawberry smoothy to energize me and soothe my agitated stomach. So why couldn’t I find the business end of the blender? And why did all that other junk (including about 25 pieces of antique sterling and my strawberry bowl with the holes in the bottom) have to fall on my head? What a way to start the last day of a long week. I shouldn’t be complaining. I like the job. It’s air-conditioned. (except for the morning when we couldn’t figure out why no one was quite comfortable - until someone realized the thermostat was turned to HEAT) I’m having one of those weeks when I have trouble being “in the moment.” And no matter where I am I think I should be somewhere else doing something else. So I’m not doing such a great job with anything. Now that I think of it....I was uptown and stopped in at work to do a few things. But I forgot to check the sacristy to see how many sick call hosts ( 1 1/8” diameter versus 1 3/8”) we had in the cabinet. That’s not 100% my job, but the compulsive part of me wants to stay on top of things. Maybe I’ll go in and check before Mass tomorrow morning. And I thought my mother was out of her mind for waking up in the middle of the night to remember details in need of attention at her job doing newspaper paste-up and proof-reading. Like mother, like daughter.

Although I did get to sleep in this morning. Rick took the boys to the opening to a new Apple Store at a nearby mall. Free shirts and a chance to mingle with the similarly nerdy. Not to mention the super-nerdy types who were reading their new Harry Potter while waiting in line for the Apple Store to open. I should have gone along. All I got for some extra sleep time was stiff joints and a sense that I was even farther behind. So I spent a little time on the NordicTrack. And then got caught up with the latest Vanity Fair (I’m obviously stalling on something if I’m dedicating my time to reading about the scandals behind the Jimmy Choo shoe empire. I mean, really, I think any shoes over $20 - not including medically prescribed orthopedic shoes - are ridiculous. Reading about women who would pay $900 for a pair of shoes is like reading about alien abductions. Strange. Not especially credible. But I guess it happens. The shoe purchases, that is.) and then I took a little nap.

About that cabbage...
The girls think that my two year old godson stepped on it while he was visiting last week. I’m relieved that we don’t have some obscure cabbage disease threatening us. And we’ll just entertain two year olds in the back yard. With the nightshade gone, the garden would be safe for him. But is he safe for the garden?

Purslane
I don’t care if it is higher in omega-3 fatty acids than any other leafy vegetable. Portulaca oleracea is a weed that drives me crazy. Almost falling headlong into the garden while pulling a balky weed is more gardening excitement than I would like.

That and the nightshade. (I think it’s nightshade. ) Oh, maybe next year I’ll let the purslane take over the garden and start eating it. If you can’t beat it.

Purslane is best when it's young and tender. Grow it in pots or shallow wide containers and harvest as needed, using mostly top leaves and stems. Once the plant blooms it won't be as tender and tasteful. Just a note-don't confuse purslane with Moss Rose, Portulaca grandiflora, an annual that is grown for it's rose like bloom. Confusing the purslane with the moss roses was my mistake in years past. By the time I figured out what was going on, that stuff had taken over everywhere. This year I tried a pre-emergent weed treatment that has kept the purslane at bay. Sort of.

	Your travel type: Culture Buff The culture buff needs to see a museum, an art gallery, a 16-th century church every day during his holiday. When he travels he is always well prepared. He has read history books, speaks a few words of the lingo, knows about the strange habits the locals have.
	top destinations: Alice Springs Tahiti New York	stay away from: Kashmir Ciudad Perdida Darien Gap

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Thanks to TSO for the tickle to my imagination.
I haven't gone anywhere in ages. Right now I'm so averse to going out into the heat and humidity that I would have to think twice about a free trip to anywhere...if it involved driving to the airport. And I'm only in Chicago in July. Wish I were made of sterner stuff.

Death lies on her like an untimely frost...
Am beyond commentary on the world in general. What can I say that will add anything substantive?

So I’ll drone on about my garden. Looking great. Except for white decorative kale #4 (Let’s number them from left to right. I’m crazy for the ornamental cabbage, but not to the extent of naming the babies...) Totally pale and wilted. Dead but not yet brown. What happened? I shall hope it is foul play (or perhaps an accidental footfall by some misguided visitor last evening) and not some cabbage disease that will threaten the other seven survivors. Or revenge of the white butterflies...

High point of summer...
and a three day week-end. So it’s time to start thinking about our educational plans for the fall. Due to the anticipated return of King Tut to the Field Museum next May, I think we are going to make Ancient Egypt the thrust of our school year. Big Ed had a good idea at dinner on Friday night. To kick off the school year, we should visit the permanent Egypt exhibit at the Field this fall. Now that I think of it, Eddie may have been in a stroller the last time we went through the Field and Chuck was going through one of his more sensitive phases - in which he was obsessed with the danger of being locked in the museum. I vaguely remember some sort of panic attack in a corridor that hit a dead end instead looping back around to the main hall, the way most of the exhibits do. So I think we’ll do the Field (and maybe the Art Institue, too, while we’re at it) to start off the school year.

Another project I have in mind is having the boys keep “diaries” of their Egyptian study. In the manner of a fake-simile book, much like Egyptology by Emily Sands. I already have the sketch books. We just need to work up some enthusiasm.

I Knew It!
"I'm on my 400th day of purpose and I still feel invigorated. My purpose in life is to find my purpose. It's like a constant high."

Often I feel as if there is a tight band around my head.
So give me a big ”RCd - dem - Demoralization RC3 - cyn - Cynicism” on the MMPI.
With all due respect to Amy Welborn and her Brigittine Nuns I’m starting to feel a little squeezed. Real life stresses at home and work. Plus every piece of equipment at work malfunctioned in some way. Including the phones, which rang when and where they shouldn’t and didn’t where they should...the highlight being the demoralizing moment when an incoming call sounded like a buzz from another extension and I greeted the Vicar General of the Archdiocese with “Hey, what’s up.” (Yeah, it could have been worse. I could have said “ahoy, hoy” or something really moronic.”)

Rick’s dad wound up in the emergency room (everything is OK now) and Rick spent the day at his parent’s house awaiting the arrival of the family foreign exchange student (circa 1976) and his family who were flying in from Germany and renting a Winnebago for a tour of the Great Lakes. Our house could have used paternal attention, but better that Martin and family go to the in-laws than come to my house. It’s just been that bad this week. Of course, Rick’s afternoon plan included making a last hour payment on the phone bill. So I hustled home to zoom around and take care of that. When I checked the caller ID when I came back I just about plotzed. “ARCHDIOCESE OF...” was the second to last caller. Could the Cardinal have found out what a bad week I was having? Was this going to be some sort of official reprimand? No...just the Respect Life office wanting to get my updated e-mail address. Thanks.

In my hurry to get out with the phone bill, I decided not to check the sacristy to see if there was enough altar bread. (This hasn’t always been my job, but I think I’m phasing into inventory on top of procurement.) I was sure there was enough to get through the week-end. Around 1:00 o’clock this morning I began to have doubts. So I went to Mass at 8:00am with more than prayer on my agenda. It was all good. (There was no imminent danger of disaster anyway. We had about 10,000 hosts in the rectory store room. But it isn’t Father’s responsiblity to jog from building to building looking for things when preparing for Mass. I haven’t forgotten last week’s voice-mail message from the sacristan asking where the new shipment of altar candles went. How should I know? I signed off on the delivery and sent the candles to church with the maintenance man. I mean, how many places can candles hide?)

Halfway through writing this we had a thirty second black-out and I lost my more trenchant thoughts. Perhaps it’s for the best.

I’ll try to have a more positive outlook. The girls have made it to Michigan. They have successfully turned on the water. (That was touch and go....since Dad forgot to tell them to turn off the drain valves before turning on the other valves. So things got a bit damp.) Gold finches are showing up at the feeder. And I’ve seen a few rose finches out front. God’s in his heaven and all is right in this part of the world. As long as I keep my dewclaws away from the technology.

Time to try out my anniversary present. A fifteen decade rosary. No moving parts. Nothing to malfunction.

Penguins are charming...
I like the bad penguin in Wallace & Gromit and my disappointment in not going along with the boys to see Madagascar was missing those rascally penguins. I’ll do my best not to miss March of the Penguins, which looks to be charming and touching yet not cloying or boring in the manner of some animal movies. Chuck says it is or will be at one of the ‘art houses’ in Highland Park, so I hope if the hot weather returns, we can spend an evening chillin’ with the penguins.

... and when I heard that it was for awareness, that sealed the deal!
I must confess to being somewhat confused by the Live 8 concerts. It all reminds me of the New Awareness Awards on The Simpsons Behind the Laughter episode. Not that I am against awareness or helping eradicate poverty in Africa, etc. But to my basically uninformed mind it may take more than an effort to ”double aid, cancel debt and rework unfair trade laws to lift African nations out of poverty.” In my more curmudgeonly moments I think of all I’ve read about corruption in many African governments and wonder if the money raised 20 years ago by Live Aid would have been better spent assassinating (OK - that’s not very humanitarian - let’s say kidnapping and imprisoning) those corrupt government officials who pillage their own nations. I guess I’m just a little irritable today. Bit of a headache after last night’s birthday party for pater/27th anniversary celebration. And worry about three of the kids as they head up to the family “farm” in the UP for two days of vacation is bouncing around the back of my mind. So I’ll admit to being curmudgeonly.

If the Live 8 folks had been asking for pledges I would gladly contribute. To buy the pole Beyond Knowles needed for her Philadelphia performance which was essentially a pole-dance sans pole. And that has what to do with awareness, justice and poverty?

We’re not talking...
And we’re glad.
I’ve become increasingly amazed by newscast sound bytes featuring persons tangentially related to a story who blather on without restraint. There are more and more of these people with less and less to say. And often grammatically comedio-tragic.
Where do those people come from? This week we came excrutiatingly close to becoming them.

Fran received a phone call around 1:00am Tuesday telling her that her high school sweetheart had been killed in Iraq. Hopes that this was just a bad rumor were quashed by a note on my desk at work informing me of a young former parishioner who had been killed in action. And even though I talked with a close friend of the young man’s mother, I waited until the name was released by the Dept. of Defense until I actually put his name on the list of prayers for the deceased.

Fran is a tough girl to read. Familial stiff upper lip and all that stuff. But I know the unconscious attachment one can keep for first loves and old friends. (I had a card in the mail from my childhood beau - we’re talking fifth grade - the day before Fran’s news and I found myself holding off on opening lest it be a bearer of bad news. It wasn’t. Just “how are you guys doing?” etc.) Her current suitor attended a different high school and never knew her old friend. So their was no opportunity for shared grief and I could tell she would keep any feelings under wraps, if only out of consideration for the man of the moment. (OK, man of the century, since they’ve been dating more than 5 years.)

Unnerved by this encroachment of reality, I tried to muddle through my day at work. There were enough snafus of the office technology ilk to keep me occupied. (almost broke the fax machine changing ink cartridges, strange lines through any correspondence printed on the laser writer and to top it off, a missing toner cartridge for the copier and a copier company that disavowed any knowledge of an on going relationship with our office. By two in the afternoon my voice was taking on a metallic edge as I phoned back and forth between the 800 number and the local corporate office...”But what about your service man, Josh? Why would Josh be here every other week if didn’t have a service contract for this (here I am imagining a string of obscenities) machine?”)

On Wednesday, things were not going a whole lot better. The office was short handed. Two of the three priests were out for two days and we were doing our best to do work that involved no copying, no pastor’s signature and no imminent decision making. That is when a call came in from a reporter for Channel 7 in Chicago. She wanted to know what we knew about a young man from Lake Forest who had been killed in Iraq. There was no one for her to talk to. The parish school that he had attended was empty. The pastor wasn’t in. (Not that our new pastor even knew this fellow.) So I volunteered Fran. Not having a long time to talk on the phone (yes, there is a certain ‘rush’ from putting a reporter on hold to answer two other lines...) I mentioned that my daughter dated this man about 8 years ago and perhaps she could share some thoughts and names of other friends. So I did that which we are never supposed to do. Give out a parishioner’s phone number to a caller. Tough nuts. I’m the parishioner’s mother. And I gave her Fran’s cell number.

Ten minutes later I received another call. Fran was helpful but declined to speak on camera. Would I mind standing in front of the church and making a brief statement? For one wretched second there was the appeal of a moment all my own to blather on camera. But I caught myself before I succumbed. For a number of reasons, the least of which was the fact that the pastor would certainly not be thrilled to turn on the telly at bedtime (and I know with my luck it would be Channel 7) and see his parish church and the only person tending the rectory phones standing out front babbling incoherently. And what would I say? What could I say?
It is tragic. Sad. He was a nice boy when I knew him. Maybe I could talk a little about the sweet musical snow globe he gave Franny (gawdy, but heart felt, with a bit of “my mom helped pick this out because I don’t know a thing about girly presents” written all over it) and that is still somewhere in our house. And now how could we dare get rid of this memento of a fallen graduate of LFHS? Maybe I would become completely unglued and segue into a bit of slander about the bungling fools at the copier company and how they had ruined my day. And then, filled with remorse at devoting so much of my time to photocopying and helping other people with their problems, I would burst into tears and wave at the camera and shriek, “Mom loves you boys. I’ll be home soon.”

No, discretion is the better part of valor.
I’m proud of Fran for keeping her feelings to her self, except for a few kind words off camera. I’m glad I caught myself before I could fall into the trap of making a tragedy an excuse for pathetic TV performance art. (And because I am a sucker for sad line, I had a second moment of temptation when the reporter dropped a hint about coming all the way out to Lake Forest and not getting anybody on tape. Should I have bailed her out? I think not. And I’m not pleased to see any further tragedy, but I did notice on the 10:00 o’clock news that she was in Buffalo Grove at the scene of a deadly fire of suspicious origins. So she didn’t spend a whole day’s work without getting her money shot.)

So we were thinking. And praying. Just off camera.